Midnight
by ilyahna
Summary: An Untethered PostEp. I now see new things between Goren and Eames, and I'm excited to process them here. I am beginning to understand how there can be something more between our detectives than friendship, and here's why. This might grow into a long one!
1. After Twelve

It was midnight, and she couldn't sleep.

Not that she had really tried. Drinking coffee at her kitchen counter didn't constitute an effort to wind down. With one hand, she leafed through the pages of the notebook she had kept, documenting Goren's imprisonment, and she stopped at the notation that read: "one hour late." Again, she felt that sense of panic.

Frustrated, she slapped the notebook shut and drained her coffee cup. Grabbing her keys from the counter, she was out the door and in her car before she'd had time enough to consider what she was doing. It had been two days since she'd talked to him, and it was driving her mad.

She found something exhilarating about going ninety down the highway, and she left the window cracked to feel the rush of cold air on her face. As she drove, she felt the tears well in her eyes again. She felt a lack of control, and she felt… as though all her efforts to help had fallen on a man both blind and deaf. Yes, she'd been short with him lately, said some hurtful things, but she was angry, and she felt slighted, and belittled as his partner. She'd imagined a partnership to be something … almost sacred. How could it not be when one entrusted their life and their career to another every day? She'd complained to her mother about him. About the way he never seemed to appreciate her solidity, or her support. Her mother had simply said: "He's a man."

Alex took his exit, and thought bitterly to herself that Joe hadn't been that way, but then she knew she hadn't been so wrapped up in Joe. He was a constant figure, an easy companion, and while she loved him, he didn't incite her passion. Her protective nature. Not like Bobby. In some ways it felt like a flaw, and when it came to matters of life and death as it did in their partnership, it was maddening. For the first time since the early days of working with him, she started to doubt the logic and the wisdom of it. Not because she didn't trust his skill as a detective, but because she cared too much about him.

Is that what had driven her to do this? To let him pull that insane stunt to get himself locked up in prison, where God knows what could have happened to him? Her feelings for Bobby were like incomplete thoughts, interrupted in the line of duty. It was no new thing for partners to get too close to each other, but to think that it had happened to her… and that she hadn't seen it. Ross becoming captain had triggered the protective nature in her, the binding thread of loyalty to her partner whom no one, not even his mother, his brother, certainly not the captain understood. Had she gone too far, this time, trying to show him that she cared?

She felt like she was standing outside a fortress, screaming to be let in. How many dragons did she have to slay before he would trust her?

She had to concentrate to keep her speed below thirty on the road that led to his apartment. As she passed the cars parked along the street, Alex ran through all the things she could say to him. It began with "You were doing the right thing, Bobby," and ended with "I'm sorry I let you do this." When she finally pulled up to the curb in front of his place, she was biting her lip hard enough that she tasted salt on her tongue as she stepped out of the car.

She pocketed her keys, running over what she was going to say to him as she walked toward the entrance of the apartment. Belatedly, she realized she was speaking aloud, and glanced up to see if anyone had heard her.

She froze, mid-stride.

Bobby was sitting on the concrete steps, dark, haunted eyes catching her and holding her still.

Alex shifted, for some reason taking her keys out of her pocket and holding them. "Hey…" was all she said, much less profound than her private mutterings a moment before.

He didn't say anything for a moment, but then the strained look on his face softened, and the corner of his lips twitched in what was his version of a smile these days. "It's after midnight," he said, quietly.

--

I will continue this, but I need more time to think it over. I wanted to process what I felt just after the show here, but there will definitely be more!


	2. Almost One

"I couldn't sleep," she told him, and immediately felt silly for it.

"Me either," he said, and his smile was a little wider for a moment before it faded.

Alex fidgeted with the car keys in her hand, shifted from one foot to the other, and finally inhaled deeply and took the few steps between them. She sat down beside him, propped her elbows on her knees, and stared out into the street like he'd been when she'd found him. She felt him looking at her, but she didn't return his stare, because she wasn't yet sure what she wanted to say. Finally, he turned away, and they sat like that in silence for a long moment. A cat strolled past them on the sidewalk, and Alex found herself studying it intently.

"Tell me I did the right thing, Alex," he said.

Without looking at him, she said: "You did the only thing you know how to do."

"Fuck things up?" His tone was bitter.

This brought her head around, and she frowned. Did he really think that's what she'd meant? "Help the people who need you," she corrected him. "That's what you've always done."

Bobby shifted now, straightening his big frame and rubbing the palms of his hands against his knees. "Bullshit." His eyes found hers. "Who have I helped? My mother's dead, my brother's a junkie, my nephew…" He trailed off and sighed, pressing his fingers against his eyelids. "I couldn't even help you when you needed me." He muttered this softly, and turned away again, eyes on the steps in front of him.

The statement caught Alex off guard, and she cursed herself inwardly when she took too long to reply. A sad smile had already touched his lips when she said: "You would have, Bobby… I know you would have." She hesitated for just a moment, then she moved her hand to his thigh, and squeezed it gently. "I never doubted that for a minute."

He didn't say anything, but he turned his head to look at her. She stared back, hoping he saw in her eyes that she wasn't lying to him. "I trust you," she said. "It was you over the job."

He turned away again and blew out a heavy sigh. "You shouldn't have to make choices like that Alex. It's not fair."

She had taken her hand away from him when he'd flinched at her last words, and now she laced her fingers together and sighed. "You're my partner, Bobby. And you're my friend."

"Some friend."

She clenched her teeth and felt her brow furrow. What was she supposed to say to him? Here she was, sitting by the street with him at one o'clock in the morning trying to tell him she cared about _him_ and that everything else was secondary... she'd been trying to show him that for years, and he couldn't see it. Now, it seemed that he couldn't _hear_ it either. There was some deep well of self-loathing in the man that swallowed any effort to reassure him, and sometimes, just sometimes, it was too much.

"I couldn't think of a better person to call a friend, Bobby," she said softly, and felt a strange lump in her throat. Her words had sounded…hurt. She stopped just short of naming all the qualities she appreciated in him, though she could have listed plenty. She knew he would only think she was being kind.

He was looking at her again, and she forced herself to meet his eyes. Because it was in her nature, Alex summoned a small grin and said: "This temporary partner of mine isn't half the man you are."

The minute it was out of her mouth, her stomach turned to knots. What she had meant to say was "he's not half the _detective_ you are." The slip startled her much that she had to look away, feeling her cheeks turn hot. He continued to gaze at her, and she sensed his hand move from where it rested against his knee, but it stopped. Had he meant to touch her?

"I wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself," she added, looking at him now. His eyebrows were drawn down gently, a look of confusion. She ignored it and hurried on. "I had your back on this one. I trusted you. Pissing off the Chief of D's doesn't make what you did wrong. It was brave as hell, Bobby."

He didn't speak for a long moment, holding her gaze until she began to grow uncomfortable. Finally, he looked away, and Alex could tell from the way his lips were just barely parted that he would say something. She watched, waiting. _Thank you, Alex. I'm glad you're here, Alex. I'm glad you trust me, Alex. It means a lot to me, Alex. _

"I don't think I'm going to come back to Major Case, Alex."

-

More soon.


	3. Too Late?

A note from the author: My muse is completely in control of me. I begin each chapter of this not knowing where I am going. I appreciate EVERYone's comments so much. You are all so kind. You must know I am new to the concept of Goren and Eames together, and I am a quite meticulous constructor of human relationships, so please do not get impatient with me as I build this. I am exploring how the two might, realistically, come together. Because I am new to this ...shipping... thing, I am very interested in your suggestions for how you see them coming together as a couple in this context. What would you like to see? What should I deal with? I promise I will write it for you. I will continue this without waiting for more CI eps, or you'll all be waiting months for updates, so by January this may be an AU universe, but I have fabulous ideas for Bobby and Alex in the future- this piece could continue indefinitely, because I love it. I've never seen them together before "Untethered." I look forward to your input! Once again, thank you all so much for the time you have taken to post reviews. It means a lot, and is so encouraging.

* * *

* * *

She stared at him. _I don't think I'm going to come back to Major Case, Alex._ It wasn't at all what she'd expected, hoped, him to say. For a long moment she was dumbfounded. She felt herself shaking her head.

"You have to." It left her mouth before she'd really thought about. It sounded like something a little girl would say.

He'd been looking at her, and now he studied her face intently and she felt naked. But she refused to look away. A hot feeling of indignation swelled in her chest, that after all these years, he was ready to walk away from her.

"I don't want another partner," she said. Again, she sounded like a petulant child, and she was almost angry at him for making her feel this way. Distantly, she recognized her own fear. Was it fear of change, or fear or losing him, or a fear of not being able to keep an eye on him. To protect him from himself.

Or had she ever done that?

He was still staring at her, in that maddening, quiet, introspective way of his. What was it that he heard her saying?

"I need a break," was what he said.

"Take a break then," she said. Then she smiled and tried to sound encouraging, upbeat. "Didn't you say you wanted to go up to the mountains this fall?"

He just stared.

"You dealt with Bishop. I'll deal with Miska for a while.. a couple of months… you can unwind, get things together… you didn't really take a break after your mother died." The words all left her in a rush, and she bit the inside of her cheek. The desperation didn't suit her.

"I don't think so, Eames." He was using her last name again. "I'm tired."

"You don't think so what?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but turned away instead, focusing on his hands, knotting his long fingers together. He was uncomfortable.

"You're wasting your time with me." He said it very softly.

It sent a cold shock through her, because she didn't know how he meant that. Was she wasting her time with him as his partner, or as his friend? Did he perceive the suggestion of something more than that?

"That's up to me to decide," she snapped, more firmly than she meant to. She felt like she was throwing a lifeline to a drowning man, who refused to take hold of it. Maybe he really didn't care about her. Maybe she made no difference at all. She squeezed the car keys in her pocket until it hurt, and forced herself not to walk away. What was she not saying?

"What will you do, Bobby?" she asked, trying not to sound patronizing. "You were born for this. It's a gift."

He didn't look at her, his dark eyes trained on the sidewalk.

"Ross wants you back," she offered.

He turned to her quickly, smirked. "Right."

Her brow furrowed. "He stood up for you, Bobby. He took your side with the Chief. You've earned his respect, if nothing else. That's a lot on the job."

Goren's face was blank for a moment, then he frowned, his expression dark. "What is this, Eames? Let me do what I need to do!" His voice was harsh, his brows drawn down in anger.

Alex's fingers clenched, fingernails in her palms, and she sucked in a breath. "Ok Bobby," she bit, her instinct taking over. She stood up, blew out an angry breath, and backed away from him. He didn't look at her, though she paused for a moment and waited for him to say something. She inhaled deeply, lifted her hands to her side in defeat, and turned on her heel. Everything screamed at her not to leave him, but she was too angry now to do him any good.

She was ten steps down the sidewalk when she heard his voice.

"Alex…" There was regret in his tone. That was easy to hear.

She froze immediately, turned around slowly, her pulse still high.

He was unfolding himself from the stairs, one hand on his knee to push himself up. He stood still for just a moment before he walked toward her. His face was a mask of pain, sadness, self-doubt. It was a look she had seen so many times. She waited as he walked toward her for him to say something negative, something self-defeating, or to apologize, because he was always doing that. Her jaw was clenched.

When he was five steps away, she could see the moisture in his eyes. She'd only seen such raw emotion in him a few times. She didn't know what to do with it.

"Bobby…" she said, hearing both frustration and hurt in her voice.

Her voice faltered when he didn't respond, stepping close to her. She tensed to back away, but then his hand was on the back of her head, and he moved close to her. His lips touched her forehead, lingered, then left, and then he held her.

And then he said it, like she knew he would. "I'm sorry, Alex."

-


	4. Closer to Daylight

Thank you again for all the comments! They mean a lot. Several of you actually gave me ideas for this installment.

* * *

He had never embraced her before. Not in seven years. It caught her off guard, and for a split second she stood there in wooden surprise, her arms at her sides. Then she pressed her cheek to his chest and her arms were around him too. Hers was a strong embrace, not an idle thing. She would stand there and hold him together all night if she needed to.

Just as her eyes began to slip closed, however, he pulled away from her, and she stood there feeling bewildered, and from some reason embarrassed.

"Why don't you come home with me?" She hadn't thought about that one before the words were out of her mouth.

"No." He shook his head.

"I'm not going to sleep worrying about you, Bobby."

He made a face at that and turned away from her. "I don't need you worrying about me," he threw over his shoulder as he shuffled back toward the stairs. "Go home."

Even for Bobby, his behavior was strange. Alex took several steps in his direction so it wasn't necessary to raise her voice. "I can't help worrying about you. I care about you. And I care about what happens to you." _Did he hear it that time?_

He stopped walking, and turned back to her. "What are you worried about?"

Alex opened her mouth to tell him, then realized the feeling hadn't shaped itself into a coherent thought. What _was _she worried about?

Now a smirk, disdainful, appeared on his face. "You think I'm going to go upstairs and put a gun in my mouth?"

The fact that he would say that shocked her, and she knew it registered on her face. He started walking again, took the three stairs and said: "Worse things have happened."

_"What?"_ She found her voice. She didn't move, but she didn't care if she was loud now. "What the hell does that mean, Bobby? _Worse things have happened_?" There was anger in her tone, and he stopped again.

Turning around, Alex thought the look on his face was apologetic. Certainly his tone was when he said: "That's not what I meant. I meant that…worse things have happened to _me_." He raised his hands beside him, dropped them back to his sides. "I mean… I've been through worse." He lowered his voice. "If I wanted to kill myself I'd have done it a long time ago."

There was a tremor along the muscles of her thighs, and in her hands. "Don't you _ever_ fucking think about it," she hissed, and felt moisture in her eyes. Unnerved by the raw emotion, she pressed the knuckles of one hand to her lips.

He seemed, for the first time that night, to recognize another dimension to her concern. To perhaps see that she was here because she cared about him, and that she was here for herself as much as for him.

The man treated others' concern like an obstacle, something to be avoided, because it was something best reciprocated.

It occurred to Alex then, though, that someone showing him that they cared wasn't a thing Bobby had a lot of experience with.

Now, the expression on his face was a different sort of distressed, something Alex hadn't seen before. They stood there, he at the top of the stairs and she at the bottom, and stared at one another for a long moment. She could sense him processing something, and wondered what alien thoughts were surfacing in his mind. She cursed his whole family. His mother, even if she _was_ sick, his damned brother, and especially his father, the architect of Bobby's insecurity and self-exile.

Then he was walking toward her again, and she dropped her hand to her side and felt herself tense. Did he mean to touch her again? What did he mean by touching her? Why tonight, of all nights?

But he didn't touch her. He didn't even stop, and his eyes left her face after he'd taken only a few steps. He passed her, his gait slow, down the stairs, and along the sidewalk to the street. She watched him go, dazed by his behavior.

Finally, she found her voice again.

"Bobby!" How was this a good time for a stroll through Queens?

He stopped and turned his head over his shoulder. He made a gesture with one hand, at her car.

"Let's go," he said.

She took one step, paused. "What? Go where?" _The asylum?_ _The hospital? _

"Your house," he said. "Let's go."

* * *

More Soon! I only have ONE more paper to write this semester and then I'm on Christmas break and fanfiction . net beware:) 


	5. Coming In Out Of The Rain

* * *

He wasn't sure why he'd agreed to go.

To her credit, judging his need for silence, Alex didn't say anything on the drive to her house. It had started to rain, and the repetitive _swish-click_ of the windshield wipers lulled him into thought.

What had she been doing at his apartment tonight? He honestly didn't believe she'd expected him to harm himself- she'd been genuinely appalled by his half-joking suggestion. Though he was stretched thin by his recent ordeal, he knew her well enough to feel assured Alex wasn't the type to feign emotion like that. It was one of the things he appreciated the most about her, her direct, sometimes untactful honesty. At least he always knew where he stood with her.

Or did he? He had always thought so until now, but the last year had been different. She was quicker to anger, more impatient with him. He had always attributed it to Ross taking over the position as captain and giving her hard time as senior officer. Now he wasn't so sure. Standing on the sidewalk moments before, seeing her genuine concern, her fear for him, had been like a light coming on in a dark place. The last year had rewound instantly in his head and her behavior took on a different connotation as it replayed, and suddenly he was accountable for himself. For pushing her away, rejecting her compassion, shutting her out of his misery. He was capable of so much empathy, for the victims of the crimes the investigated, even for the criminals…people he didn't know. Why not for his partner?

He glanced at her, and he could tell she was highly conscious of his presence beside her because she looked at him immediately. There was plain unhappiness on her face that she covered quickly by a tired smile.

It sent a wave of shame through him, and he returned his gaze to the water streaming across his window. He again fought back his instinct, which was to be angry at her for invading his private hell, but he forced himself to ask where that instinct came from. A fear of rejection. That was part of it, he knew. That was something else that had made sense for the first time fifteen minutes ago, like a bolt of lightning. She'd thought about rejecting him seven years ago, and changed her mind. There was little difference between Robert Goren the detective, and Robert Goren the man. Maybe a few more secrets, but she knew them all. More than anyone else. She'd seen his dark side, and she was still here. The images that had played through his mind moments before flashed across his consciousness again. For some reason, the clearest was Alex in a black dress, standing beside him at his mother's funeral, where his brother hadn't been.

So why was he in the car, on the way to her house? Because it felt good to give in? Because all of a sudden he couldn't tell her no again? Because he panicked, realizing how close he was to cutting the ties between himself and… the only person that cared about him?

He'd been walking away for seven years, but she'd stopped him cold tonight. Maybe it was the tears that had been in her eyes. Maybe it was what he knew she hadn't meant to say, about the kind of man he was. Or maybe it was just because he was tired of seeking acceptance and love, of whatever sort, where it was not. With his family.

And so he found himself in the passenger seat of her car as she pulled into her driveway. It was the first time he'd been to her house since she'd been kidnapped, and seeing it again as he felt that night added a residual surge of anxiety. He remembered how close he'd been to losing her, the only stable thing in his life. Alex got out of the car, shut her door behind her, but Bobby remained in his seat, staring at the house. It was overwhelming, how quickly his self-pity had been replaced by needing to set things right with her.

Alex stood in the headlights until they blinked off, then she circled the car and opened Bobby's door. "You coming?" Even given the circumstances, she managed to sound cheerful, as though him being at her house tonight was the most natural thing in the world.

He looked at her for a moment, and found his admiration for her commuted into a bizarrely-timed awareness . As she dipped her head below the roof of the car to look at him, shading her eyes from the rain, he thought that she was more beautiful now than she had been when he'd met her, despite the seven years she'd aged.

The unbidden thought startled him, and he felt his brow crease. Alex, still looking at him, mirrored his expression.

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head, unbuckled his seatbelt, and removed himself from her car. She hesitated on the driveway, appearing tense, as though he planned to run from her, but instead he touched her elbow with one hand and guided her about so that she faced her door, and let go when she started moving.

He followed her inside.

* * *

I'm not sure what I'm going to do now. I may continue this scene, or I may skip some time to get the story moving. I have to think about it. 


	6. The Next Day

The Next Day

* * *

Something about the night before had made her… nervous. She felt as though one or the both of them had been on a precipice, and she hadn't been ready to find out what was at the bottom of it. She'd been rather circumspect with him when she'd finally gotten him into her house, and he hadn't seemed to object, perhaps because he was as…confused…as she was, though that was hardly her assumption. He'd said almost nothing and been pleasantly biddable as she gave him a towel so he could shower, changed the sheets on the guest bed, and then smiled pleasantly as he bid her a good night. She let the presumption that he was here solely because she was worried about him hang there between them, and she dealt with the fact that there was more to it while lying in her bed, alone. 

When she'd left the house that morning, she had half-expected him not to be there, though how desperate he would have to be to call a cab to get back to Queens, she was loathe to speculate. But he had been there, when she'd peeked through the guest bedroom door. No doubt his sleep had been restless, for he was tangled in the sheet from his naked waist down, one arm thrown over his forehead and the other squeezing her down pillow to his chest. She'd almost left him like that, had half closed the door on him, but had changed her mind on a whim.

She'd asked him to stay, woken him up and coaxed him into telling her would, and then she'd left him there without a car. All day she'd felt strange about it, like she'd conspired to trap some strange unwilling beast. It had been hard to concentrate at work, and she'd been unable to shake the feeling that everyone that looked at her _knew_. They knew her secret before she was ready to speak it, and that made her feel naked. It wasn't logical, and it was likely nobody would give a damn if they did know.

Loss was a potent tool of realization. Spending an insufferably long day with Marcus Miska, Goren's replacement, put things into starker clarity for her.

There had been moments in that long first year when she'd thought she almost hated him. He was impulsive and didn't consult her, he was brooding and difficult. But she saw the dimension to it now, that he was also passionate and driven to do good, empathetic and devoted to principle. After seven years, it had simply not been difficult for her to understand why he'd had to do what he did, infiltrating Tate's. It had been as much out of a misguided, painfully noble sense of duty to his nephew as it had been a driving mechanism of his character. Many times she had compared herself to him and wondered if she were not a less fine being, though if that were the truth, it was hard to lament the fact. His empathy for the human race pulled him apart at the seams, while she kept it together with a distance that sometimes felt cold in comparison.

She wondered what that meant about herself as she drove home ; being Robert Goren's partner was a catalyst for self-reflection. Her tough demeanor, she'd always thought, had been a product of the way she'd grown up. A cop for a father, three brothers, a sister who was constantly sick. There was no room for Alex Eames to be weak or needy. When Joe had died, the dynamic of being a cop's daughter and a cop's wife had left her in a vacuum where it was difficult to grieve, and so she'd swallowed it. That was part of why she'd reacted the way she had to Joe's case being reopened. Even being kidnapped and hovering on the brink of death had felt like her own problem, and despite her partner's guilt, she'd never blamed him for it.

Sighing, Alex picked up her cell phone from the seat beside her and opened it. She stared at it and thought about calling him, to see if he was still there, waiting like she'd asked him to, but the only reaction she could imagine to him saying that no, he wasn't there, was to hang up on him. So she closed the phone and tossed it back into the seat. Changing lanes, she took her exit, breathed deeply as she neared her house, and wondered what she was nervous about.

Pulling into her driveway, she found her detective's eye scanning the landscape for evidence of his presence. The newspaper was still lying beside the mailbox. The curtains across the living room window were still closed. The storm door was cracked, where this morning she'd pushed it closed. She sat in her car for a long moment, the engine running. What did she expect?

Sighing, she shook her head and turned the car off. Yanking the keys out of the ignition, she got out of the car and pushed the door shut. In the time it took her to cross the yard, snatch the newspaper off the ground and walk to the front door, she'd prepared herself for the familiar emptiness of her home.

* * *

I know where I'm going now. Tell me what you think of my interpretation of the inner Alex Eames. I value your opinion. 


	7. Still Some Daylight Left

Sorry for the time it took between updates. I just finished my first semester of grad school today. Yay.

* * *

The key turned too easily in the lock, and the door inched open without an effort. Caution vied with anticipation as she pushed it inward slowly and stepped into her house. 

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Herbal. Basil, maybe. She took a few steps across the living room, her ears straining, and she heard the sound of a cabinet closing. Her caution stayed with her, despite her sneaking, excited suspicion, until she'd edged quietly down the hall and peered around the corner.

She froze beneath the arched doorway that led to her kitchen, the hand that was unconsciously clutching her keys against her chest relaxing slowly to her side. Bobby was standing there, one hand on the open refrigerator door. The other hand held a bottle of red wine, turned about so that he could read the label, entirely oblivious of her presence. She felt herself straighten in the doorway, standing fully and conspicuously in the center of it, but she didn't speak. Instead she watched him, let her senses draw it in.

The kitchen was her favorite room in the house, not because she liked to cook, but because it was bright. The tiles he stood barefoot on were off-white, and the counters strewn now with bottles and bowls and spices were a taupe ceramic that was warm, and cheerful. She glanced at the stove, where two pots boiled, filling the room with the smell of something Italian.

He shut the refrigerator door then, moved the hand with the wine toward the counter, then turned around. She felt herself expressionless in the doorway, and for a moment they were both surprised at one another. Then he smiled.

"Hey. You said to stay." She felt her lips twitch at the almost apologetic tone in his voice. The nerve of a man cooking her dinner.

She summoned an easy smile. "I didn't think you actually would." Instantly she wished she hadn't said it, because she saw his eyebrows inch downward. Before he could internalize it, she took the few steps between herself and the stove leaned over a pot. Inhaling, she grinned. "This smells good. I'm starving!" She gave his forearm a squeeze and appropriated the bottle of wine from his hand.

He let that brief awkward moment go, to his credit, and nudged her gently out of his way as he applied a spoon to his concoction.

"It's nothing fancy," he said, smiling. "Spaghetti. You didn't have much here to work with."

"I exist on coffee, remember?" She found herself standing beside him with the bottle of wine in two hands, smiling. When he glanced sidelong at her, she realized of a sudden how giddy she felt, and turned away, focusing on the contents of a drawer. "I have a wine-key in here somewhere," she told him.

"It's on the counter."

She glanced up, saw it lying beside the stove, and slid the drawer shut slowly. Setting the bottle on the counter, she picked up the wine-key, but held it still as she looked up at him.

"I didn't think you would be here," she told him again.

He turned the stove off, but didn't say anything at first, and didn't look at her. Then he moved the sauce to another burner. "You want me to leave?"

Alex felt her lips part slightly, wondering how he could have thought she meant that. Instead of answering him, she picked the bottle of wine back up, and handed it to him with the wine-key. While he stood there holding them both and looking at her, she took two glasses down from the cabinet and set them on the counter in front of them.

"I need a shower," she said. "You'd better be here when I get out." She flashed him a grin, saw that he was trying to hide a smile of his own, and she left him there in the kitchen.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Alex was standing in her walk-in closet, clutching a towel around her torso. She shoved aside a red blouse, a green sweater, and a checkered skirt. Stopping at a short black dress, she remembered the last time she'd had an opportunity to wear it. New Year's Eve, two years ago, she'd let Mike talk her into being his date for a party. He'd gotten drunk and told her she was a fox, and she'd actually blushed. Not because she didn't appreciate men finding her attractive, but it was _Mike_. She bit her lip and shook her head, and pushed that dress aside too. She'd pulled out a blue, v-necked cocktail dress and was holding it against herself, when she realized what she was doing. 

"Get a grip, Alex," she mumbled, and put the dress back. "This is your partner."

She flung her towel on the bed, and in minutes she was in a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. One of her smaller t-shirts. She ran a brush through her hair- she'd left it dry in the shower- and glanced once in the mirror before she padded down the hall to the kitchen.

The first thing she noticed was that Bobby had opened the blinds in the dining room. It was the first time they'd been open since her kidnapping, and Alex was surprised to see that her roses had blossomed, pink and yellow and white blossoms outlining the tall, arched window. The late afternoon sunlight filled the room with a lazy glow.

"I filled your hummingbird feeder."

The words came from behind her, and she glanced around. Bobby was standing in front of an open cabinet where he hadn't been a moment before.

Alex glanced at the window, and saw one of the tiny creatures had been quickly drawn to the flower-shaped feeder.

"I haven't had much stomach for birds since…" she stopped, and wished she hadn't said it. She'd found her parrot, the bird Jo Gage had killed, in the garbage beneath the sink with its neck snapped.

Bobby was looking at her, and she saw quick realization dawn on him. She'd never told him what had happened to her bird, but he was sharp.

"I'm sorry…" he said. "I didn't… Do you want me to…"

She gave a confident smile and shook her head. "No," she said. "I don't. But I do want you to pour me a glass of wine."

He obliged her, put the glass in her hand, and she found herself walking to the window as Bobby grated parmesan cheese over their plates. She approached it slowly and stood very still, waiting until the tiny bird had summoned the courage to return. It dipped its long beak into the feeder, one black eye regarding her warily.

"Did you know their wings can beat up to two hundred times a second?" she heard him ask, and an amused smile touched her lips. He was already with the facts.

She turned away from the window and took another sip of her wine. "I didn't know that," she said, as he set their plates on the table. One on the end, and one beside it on the corner. So they could both see out the window. He set the bottle of wine between them, and then, to her surprise, he pulled her chair out for her.

She couldn't remember the last time a man had done that for her. Not even Joe.

She bit back a wider smile and sank into the chair, and he joined her. Without any further ceremony, he twirled his fork in his pasta and took a bite, eyes on the scene outside the window. Alex set her wine aside and followed suit, wondering what to expect. She'd known Bobby liked to cook, but he'd never cooked for her.

"This is really good, Bobby," she told him a moment later, and he gave her a smile she thought was a little shy. When she added "thank you," he averted his eyes again. The silence hung between them for a bit, until he said:

"I've never told _you_ thank you. For anything."

Alex paused, her fork poised over her plate. She didn't know what to say to that. When she didn't speak, he looked at her, took a sip of wine, and added:

"For standing up for me to Ross so many times, for being there when my mother was sick…"

"I tried," Alex interrupted. "You weren't interested…"

Something settled on his face, maybe sad, but it was displaced by a soft smile. "For withdrawing that request six years ago. I _am_ lucky." The smile grew more confident, and she could tell he meant it.

Alex returned his gaze for a moment, feeling oddly embarrassed. She applied her fork to her dinner, twining the pasta around it longer than was necessary. Remembering that day on the stand when she'd been called on to explain why she had withdrawn her request for a new partner made her terribly uncomfortable. It was the closest she'd ever come to crying in public, and maybe the first time she had realized how much she cared about Bobby.

"So you're going to come back to major case, then," she said, taking a bite and still concentrating on the plate.

He didn't respond, and she finally looked at him. He was holding his glass of wine, staring into it. "I don't know," he said, looking unhappy.

Now Alex put her fork down, and it clattered off her plate to table. "What are you going to do, Bobby? You're a cop."

His eyes flicked up. "Is that all I'm capable of?"

Her mouth opened but nothing came out for a moment. Then she said, because it was all she could say: "I want you to come back. You're my partner."

He looked at her, his dark eyes thoughtful but dubious. Then he returned his attention to his plate, one elbow on the table. It was a guarded posture. "I don't know, Eames."

"_Alex_," she snapped, without meaning to. He glanced sharply up, his eyes rounder in surprise. She turned away in frustration and picked up the bottle of wine. She refilled her glass.

"I have to talk to Ross and the chief again next week," he said softly. "Let's just see what happens, ok?"

Alex nodded. Then, because the mood had suddenly gotten dark, she added: "If you stick with me with Marcus Miska I'll never forgive you."

Bobby hesitated for a moment before returning her smile. "He can't be _that_ bad."

Alex snorted, and spent the rest of dinner making him laugh with her irreverent, perhaps unethical commentary on her temporary partner. By the time their plates were empty and they'd taken a new bottle of wine into the living room, Bobby held up a hand and waved off her description of Miska's French poodle and its eccentricities, about which she'd heard at least eight times in the last week.

"Ok ok ok," he said, setting the bottle of wine on the coffee table. "I owe you more than that."

Alex, her mood lifted tremendously by the combination of laughter and wine, pointed her glass at him. "You damn sure do. Did you know this poodle can walk on two legs? I've seen _pictures_!"

Bobby's hand covered the lower half of his face, but his shoulders shook. "Stop. I give up."

Alex found herself giggling, like a kid, and it felt good. She settled cross legged on one end of the couch. He refilled his glass, then poured more into hers, and joined her. Not at the opposite end of the couch, as he might have, but in the middle, near her. He propped his feet on the coffee table, and she noted with no small bit of pride in her perseverance that he seemed much more relaxed today, and it wasn't just the wine. The tension had mostly left his shoulders, and that constant haunted state of exhaustion that had hovered over him since Tate's had faded.

She watched him take a sip of wine, a mischievous grin on his lips. "Did you know poodles are actually retrievers?" He managed to sound serious, and shot her a somber look. "They're good herders."

"Shut up," Alex laughed, and one foot shot out to connect with his thigh. "No more."

As she was drawing her foot back, he caught it. He held it still in one hand as she tried to pull it back, leaning forward over it and putting his wine on the table. Then he settled back against the couch, and he pulled her foot toward him with both hands, and she felt the warm pressure of his fingers against her sole. Her surprise at the unexpected gesture melted as the nerves along her leg tingled pleasantly at the massaging touch, and she relaxed.

"So much for Derek Jeter," Alex mumbled after a moment, and when she saw him smile, it was obvious he understood the reference. She didn't find it necessary to speak for a moment, feeling the warm flush of wine and something more in her cheeks as she relaxed against the couch arm, her eyes half lidded, wine resting on her thigh. Finally, he spoke, his voice more subdued.

"I told Frank I'm done with him."

It wasn't the line of thought she was expecting, but she recognized the un-coerced honesty. He focused on the motion of his thumbs against the sole of her foot, his big hands almost enveloping it. Alex stared at his face, at the slight crease of his brow. It was hard to know what to say._Good, Bobby. He doesn't deserve you. _Frank was his brother. _You've said that before, Bobby. _But it was she that had taken Frank's story to her partner.

He saved her from having to speak, though. "I told him… if I heard he was on a bridge, ready to jump… I'd listen for the splash."

That surprised her. That wasn't Bobby. She frowned, then ironed the expression out quickly when he looked at her. He was sharp. She distracted his impending gloominess by insinuating her other foot onto his lap. He took the point with a slight curve of his lips.

"Something my father learned about my aunt…" she said. "…you know.. the alcoholic… is that no amount of love can change someone. In some cases it makes it worse. You're doing the right thing to cut him off, Bobby."

"I didn't say it because it was the right thing," he said softly, and she almost winced as the pressure of his thumbs bit sharply into her. He seemed to realize this, and his touch softened. Alex was caught between wishing he would leave this subject behind, and appreciating that he was opening up to her on his own. It wasn't a habit of his.

"You're human, Bobby," she said. "Human beings get hurt. We say things we don't mean. It doesn't make you a bad person." She reached out, and caught his wrist, so he would hear her. His fingers twined easily, naturally, around hers, and she felt a strange, tight feeling in her stomach. It was a startling rush to realize that she wanted to kiss him, and when he looked at her, she couldn't tell what she saw in his face. There was a fine line, here, and she knew in an instant that now was no time for what she was feeling. Not with her partner on a precipice, unsure of his direction. Kiss him now, and never see him again. Certainly not at his desk at One Police Plaza.

She squeezed his hand and smiled brightly at him, none of her emotions betrayed on her face.

"Enough of this," she said, and was on her feet, his hand still in hers. She pulled gently. "Let's go outside. There's still some daylight left."

* * *

This piece is finished. I have told you all I am drawn toward being realistic with this relationship, and I think this is a good lead in. I've been encouraged by everyone's comments, and I have been working on developing something longer. Now that I have your attention, I hope I can give you something more than a little one-shot piece like this. The sequel, or continuation, of this little storylet will be a casefile and a developing romance, full of drama, already with the potential to be rather long. I appreciate the many folks that commented, and I know many have this story on an update list. I hate to change the titles on you, but if you add my penname as an author alert you'll know when I get the sequel up. As always, I value your opinions, insights, and suggestions. Thank you again. Sorry I'm not fluffy. 


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